


Talk Some Sense To Me

by PishNoodles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Comforting, F/M, Nightmares, Slight fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 18:24:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8544229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PishNoodles/pseuds/PishNoodles
Summary: In any other situation Lydia would have pulled him toward her and kissed him until the crinkle disappeared, replaced with the raised eyebrows and smug smile pressed against her lips the she usually got from him when she showed sudden bouts of affection. Because Stiles Stilinski was a goddamn asshole. And Lydia Martin adored him.
But this was not any other situation. And Lydia couldn't make the crinkle disappear.
Not like that.





	

Lydia wakes up to an empty space on the bed where Stiles should be. Squinting through the darkness, she can just about make out his silhouetted figure sitting hunched over the side of the bed. She rolls over and turns on the lamp placed on his bedside table, it's soft glow instantly illuminating the room and bouncing off the dark blue walls. She sits up and scoots over to his side of the bed, her small hands wrapping around his shoulders and clasping together, resting on his chest. Her petite frame pressed up against his back, reassuring. She dips her head into the crook of his neck and she can feel how sweaty he is. 

Stiles' hands have already come up to rub soothing circles on the backs of her own. It's done on instinct. Lydia brings her head back up to look at him, noticing almost immediately how red his cheeks are and the tears that have dried and left little trails of destruction in their wake. He's not looking at her. Stiles' mouth is set in a straight line and his brows are slightly furrowed, creating a little crinkle in the middle of his forehead. In any other situation Lydia would think it was cute. In any other situation Lydia would have pulled him toward her and kissed him until the crinkle disappeared, replaced with the raised eyebrows and smug smile pressed against her lips that she usually got from him when she showed sudden bouts of affection. Because Stiles Stilinski was a goddamn asshole. And Lydia Martin adored him.

But this was not any other situation. And Lydia couldn't make the crinkle disappear. 

Not like that.

Stiles' breath was calm and the smooth up-down of his ribcage made Lydia breathe with him. She looks him over once more - he's completely wrecked. She can see it in his eyes, the way they don't burn like whiskey and the golden flecks that usually dance across his irises seem to have lost their music. 

"Another nightmare?" It's not really a question. Lydia already knows the answer. But Stiles just gulps and silently nods, eyes still trained on the floor. This isn't an irregular occurrence. Stiles doesn't sleep much. Then again, neither does Lydia. They both have demons that they've tried so hard to tame. And the thing is, they do a good job of it. During the day. During the day, they're normal people. During the day, they laugh and bicker and talk about what they're gonna have for dinner tonight. The truth is, they're everything but normal. "What was it about?"

She feels his heartbeat pick up pace. "Scott." His voice comes out as a croaky whisper and Lydia feels it reverberate through his chest. "He's just lying there, Lyds. Right in the middle of the woods. And there's nothing I can do. All I can see is blood and it's not just on Scott, it's on me too. And I look down and my hands are covered in it. And then I realise. It was me. I did it. I was the one who beat my best friend to death with my own fucking bare fists. And I can't fix it. There's nothing I can do. And then I look around me and there's hundreds of bodies, all looking the exact same as Scott. All bloodied and bruised and dead." There's still a crinkle. "I was the one to do it." 

A single tear slides down his left cheek and drops off his chin onto the red t-shirt he had worn to bed, making a little wet patch on the collar. It looks like a blood stain. The dark, almost black, kind of red that only runs deep inside the body. It's ironic really.

"It wasn't real," Lydia says softly after a long time. "You know you would never do that to anyone, let alone Scott." 

His reply is short. And it almost breaks her. "Do I?"

Lydia bites her lip and buries herself into his shoulder. His breath has started to stutter. She lifts her head and takes in a deep breath as she does so. "Stiles, listen to me. We've all had to do some terrible things. Some things that are extremely morally wrong and we would never have done or had to of done them had we not been put into this kind of world but we have. We're here, trying to survive and you need to understand that people do not die because of you, okay?"

"People have died because of me, though."

"No they haven't."

"Yes, they have."

"Stiles-"

"Allison."

Lydia looks at Stiles with furrowed eyebrows and wide, emerald eyes. She pulls back slightly, her hands now grasping his shoulders. They've talked about Allison before. Only once or twice but they've still talked about her. Stiles knows that Lydia doesn't blame him for her dying. "That wasn't you." She says it with such resolute. There's no wavering. It wasn't him.

"It was me though. It was my voice and my face and, God, it was..." The sentence doesn't get finished as Stiles' eyes well up with tears and Lydia can feel her own eyes starting to prickle. 

"It wasn't you." He's still not looking at her. Instead his focus is trained on the mystery board, red thread hanging loosely from every pin. Lydia starts running her hands up and down his back in an attempt to soothe whatever's going on in his head. 

After a long silence, with just their breathing to be heard, "You know what the worst part was?" Lydia doesn't move, doesn't the react to the sudden rush of words. "You were there." Lydia already knows what he's going to say and starts shaking her head slowly. She bites her lip and closes her eyes, forehead resting on his shoulder. "You were just watching me. And then-then..." Stiles stops to take in a deep breath and then shakily let it out, his hand coming up to run through his already messy hair. "And I turn around and look at you... and I just go for you. And that's when I wake up." Lydia breathes into his shoulder, trying to hold back tears. "I don't wanna hurt you. Ever."

Lydia knows Stiles would never do anything to hurt her. He's always been like that. He's always silently protected her, right from the start. She knows that because one time in elementary school, a boy called Sam Newman started making rumours up about her, saying that she had a serious nit problem. She didn't, obviously. She's Lydia Martin, her hair was flawless. But all the other kids started avoiding her and calling her names and every time anyone had teased her for 'having nits' it was guaranteed that you would be hearing something about it from a little someone called Stiles Stilinski. Usually with a Scott McCall trailing somewhere behind him. 

Lydia pulls her head up from his shoulder and looks at him. She notices his moles scattered across his cheeks and the slight up-tilt of his nose and how his annoyingly long eyelashes brush over his ridiculously high cheekbones, and she smiles. She mashes her lips together and starts to raise up on her knees, scooting around more to his side so she can place her forehead just above his ear. Lydia lets out a small sigh and she can feel Stiles shiver beneath her. Her fingers have come to pull slightly at the collar of his t-shirt and her nose is nudging playfully at his ear. "I love you." It comes out as a breathy, almost inaudible whisper.

The moment is quiet and completely theirs and as soon as Lydia says it a bit louder Stiles is on her. His hands have finally found place on her cheeks and they start to slowly run through her hair. "God, I love you," Stiles says against her lips and Lydia curls her fingers into the longer hair at the back of his neck, pulling slightly. Lydia has one leg hanging off the side of the bed while the other is bunched up in his sheets and although this is a good moment, she's really not comfy. "Mmm" She pulls away and slowly starts to crawl onto his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist and his hands move down to her hips. 

Their kisses are wet and sloppy and just a little desperate and in the morning, when Lydia wakes to Stiles slowly dropping kisses onto her collarbone and neck, the sun pouring through half closed slats and making his eyes burn like whiskey once more, she'll say it again. And again and again because she does. Lydia Martin is in love with Stiles Stilinski.

There is nothing that could happen that would ever change that.

**Author's Note:**

> Right oh. That was fun. It's kind of bad and cheesy and I say 'and' far too much but I enjoyed writing it. This is probably the first real fic I've ever actually written so... bare with me. 
> 
> Title is from I Found by Amber Run
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you liked it.
> 
> If you wanna talk to me I'm PishNoodles on tumblr.


End file.
